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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24609301">Sitting Pretty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyacinthsSoul/pseuds/HyacinthsSoul'>HyacinthsSoul</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cupcake Made Us Do It [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Engineer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Gay Sex, M/M, Rough Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:00:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,772</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24609301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyacinthsSoul/pseuds/HyacinthsSoul</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>LIZARD SITTER WANTED<br/>Traveling for a conference &amp; my lizard could use some TLC.<br/>A good lizard sitter is hard to find. Could you be the one?<br/>Come over and meet it up close and personal. It doesn’t bite!</p><p>Oh, come on, Frong thinks. It’s got to be tongue in cheek, right? Nobody is clueless enough to advertise for a petsitter on a gay hookup app. Lizard Dad is just clowning him. Got to be.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frong Korawit Kankun/Thara, Frong/Bohn, Thara/Frong (My Engineer)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cupcake Made Us Do It [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>T/CBL</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sitting Pretty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shirtless profile pic taken at his mother’s birthday party. <em> Swipe left. </em></p><p>Wearing booty shorts with CUM INSIDE bedazzled across the ass. <em> Swipe left. </em> </p><p>Porn mustache. <em> Swipe left. </em></p><p>Googly eyes tattooed on his nipples. <em> Swipe left</em>.</p><p>Holding some kind of a—what the fuck? Is that a lizard?</p><p>Frong is about to swipe left again but something makes him do a double take and zoom in on the photograph instead. Yeah, that’s a lizard all right, held aloft in the beaming man’s two cupped hands. But the detail that really captures his attention is what the guy is packing in his bike shorts, because holy fuck, either he’s stuffed a prize-winning cucumber down his pants or…</p><p><b>Lizard-sitter wanted,</b> the caption says. OK, not the most original innuendo Frong has ever heard, but he’s prepared to forgive that if the impressive bulge in those shorts is the real deal. As an added bonus, the man has a sculpted jaw, a dazzling smile, and a damn fine set of shoulders and biceps showcased by his sleeveless cycling jersey. <em> Yeah, I’d sit on your lizard any day, </em>Frong thinks, and swipes right.</p><p>Usually he avoids corny lines in his hookup attempts; his standard approach is a simple “Looking for some company tonight. Interested?” With his looks it doesn’t often take more than that to get laid. But the lizard man is in a similar league and his package is making Frong’s mouth water, so he decides to play along for a change.</p><p><b>Yim Yaw</b><br/>
I might be up for some lizard sitting.<br/>
I like the look of your lizard.</p><p><b>Lizard Dad</b><br/>
Really?? Thank you!! I’m very<br/>
fond of it. Would you like to<br/>
see a close-up?</p><p><b>Yim Yaw</b><br/>
Pics probably don’t do it justice.</p><p><b>Lizard Dad</b> <b><br/>
</b> They really don’t but here.<br/>
[Cupcake.jpg]</p><p> </p><p>Frong blinks. Wait. That’s not a dick pic. That’s the actual damn lizard again. A leopard gecko, if he’s not mistaken; one of his cousins kept one as a pet when they were kids.</p><p>With growing apprehension, he takes a closer look at Lizard Dad’s profile.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>Lizard Sitter Wanted</b><br/>
Traveling for a conference &amp; my lizard could use some TLC.<br/>
A good lizard sitter is hard to find. Could you be the one?<br/>
Come over and meet it up close and personal. It doesn’t bite!</p>
</blockquote><p><br/>
Oh, come on. It’s got to be tongue in cheek, right? Nobody is clueless enough to advertise for a petsitter on a <em> gay hookup app </em>. Lizard Dad is just clowning him. Got to be. </p><p><b>Yim Yaw</b><br/>
Cute pic but I think I need to see the<br/>
real thing. In person. What do you say?</p><p><b>Lizard Dad</b> <b><br/>
</b> I’d love it! If my lizard likes you we<br/>
can get right down to the sitting details.<br/>
Tonight?<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Frong ponders the question as he browses the rest of Lizard Dad’s pics. There are only two more but that’s enough to seal the deal. </p><p>Exhibit A: Lizard Dad taking a mirror selfie at the gym, where he’s wearing a sleeveless tank with the sides cut nearly to his waist over a pair of compression shorts that might as well be painted on. One long look is enough to have Frong’s dick twitching, because the bulge in the first photo was <em> not </em>a fluke. Lizard Dad doesn’t look like a gym rat but he’s firm and tight and he’s got fantastic quads, which only serve to guide the eye to what he’s packing. </p><p>Exhibit B: Lizard Dad in an immaculately tailored tux, gorgeous as fuck and smiling like a sunrise. </p><p>Godammit he needs to get laid. It’s been way too long since his last hookup, a hasty hate-you handy in the wardrobe closet at a photoshoot with his nemesis, the cocky asshole who narrowly bested him for the title of campus king. They’d been on a collision course since freshman orientation, when they’d fallen into bed together without exchanging certain key information first. Frong thought he was going to get the vigorous topping he craved and instead he ended up in a bitchy slap-fight with a pillow prince. Mortifying.</p><p><b>Yim Yaw</b><br/>
I’m free after 7pm. Shoot me a time<br/>
&amp; your address and i’m all yours.</p><p>~</p><p>Frong’s confusion begins with Lizard Dad opening the door wearing a towel, damp hair in his eyes and beads of water still glistening on his collarbones, and then <em>apologizing</em> for it.</p><p>“Please, please forgive my state of undress,” he says, half-hiding his taut body behind the door even as he lays a warm hand on Frong’s shoulder in greeting. “I’m so sorry! I took too long in the shower and I didn’t want to leave you standing on the doorstep. Come in, come in. I’m Thara, by the way.”</p><p>“Frong,” says Frong distractedly, following his tight terrycloth-covered ass into the next room. Towel. Shower. Pecs. Abs. Adonis belt. Sorry? Why is he sorry? Frong’s dick is ready to give him a standing ovation.</p><p>“Have a seat,” says Thara, waving a hand to encompass the living room furniture. “I’ll just get dressed and be right with you.”</p><p>“Don’t bother on…” Frong begins as Thara disappears through a doorway. “...my account?”</p><p>Bewildered, he tries to get his bearings. The room is immaculate and stylish with a dash of whimsy, furnished in mostly neutral hues with bright pops of color from a Mondrian-inspired area rug, emoji throw pillows<span>—all of them smiling—</span>and a framed giclée print of a Patrice Murciano chameleon. But the focal point of the room is the window wall looking out on the Bangkok cityspace, and in front of it a stylized tree of carved wood that Frong first assumes to be another art piece...until he sees something on it <em> move</em>.</p><p>It’s the lizard, the one from the profile photo. </p><p>As Frong watches it scurries up the trunk of the sculpted tree toward what proves to be a tiny hammock in the upper branches, where it first stares challengingly down at him and then relaxes into a lounging position. Apparently he doesn’t look like a threat.</p><p>“Oh, I see you’ve already met Cupcake!” says Thara from behind him. Frong turns to see him beaming in the act of zipping up the ugliest, baggiest beige cardigan Frong has ever seen—over a polo shirt buttoned up to the throat, and trousers in a hideous plaid that nonetheless fit Thara’s contours like a second skin.</p><p>“Cup...cake?” Frong echoes faintly.</p><p>“Yes, because Cupcake is so sweet. Isn’t it adorable?” Thara throws a friendly arm over Frong’s shoulders as though they’re old friends as he gestures with his free hand to the lizard in its hammock. “Most leopard geckos don’t enjoy climbing, but I had this tree built with lots of extra indentations and bumps for easy gripping, and Cupcake has really taken to it.”</p><p>“He’s. Um. Very handsome.” Frong is hyperaware of the weight and warmth of Thara’s arm, the gravitational pull of Thara’s body close beside him. Surely that’s an unmistakable overture? Every atom in Frong’s stupidly horny body is urging him to turn and plaster himself against Thara and just <em> grind</em>. And yet Thara is wearing that stupid unflattering cardigan and those awful pants <em> unironically. </em>He cannot possibly be signalling that he’s DTF in that getup, can he?</p><p>Frong is offended by the very existence of that cardigan. </p><p>“I can tell Cupcake likes you already,” Thara says, releasing Frong after a firm squeeze to his bicep. Frong squelches the urge to moan in frustration. “Would you like a drink?”</p><p>“I’d love one!” Frong brightens as he enthusiastically agrees. That’s more like it! With a little alcohol to ease the awkwardness of first contact, he’ll have those ugly clothes off Thara in record time.</p><p>Or so he thinks until they reach the kitchen and Thara offers him mangosteen juice with wheatgrass. </p><p>And yet Thara’s hand lingers on his as he passes him the glass, and the next words out of his mouth are, “I like your smile, N’Yim.”</p><p>“I like yours too,” Frong admits, licking his lips suggestively after taking a sip of the juice. A seductive lip lick followed by a lower-lip bite rarely fails, in his experience. Maybe Thara will take the glass from his hand, set it aside, and back him up against the refrigerator…</p><p>“Let me show you where I keep the mealworms,” Thara says.</p><p>Twenty minutes later, Frong is so fucking confused he’s tempted to fake a family emergency and flee. But he’s also in the grip of a lust so powerful he nearly whimpers every time Lizard Dad—<em>Thara</em>—lays a hand on him. Which is every thirty seconds or so, because Thara is a relentlessly handsy bastard. Or maybe he’s just kind and oblivious. Frong can’t tell for sure and it’s driving him fucking <em> insane. </em></p><p>One minute he’s convinced Thara is inwardly laughing at his discomfort and deliberately working him into a frenzy. The next minute he thinks hell no, that sunny smile and sweet manner can’t possibly be a front; this guy genuinely just wants somebody to babysit his lizard while he’s out of town.</p><p>“It’s a medical research conference in Chiang Mai,” Thara explains in between his overview of lizard feeding and a refill of the mangosteen juice, which Frong has to admit is refreshing. “I’m a fifth year medical student and my faculty mentor is presenting results of a clinical trial I’ve been fortunate enough to observe and assist with this year. We catch a flight tomorrow afternoon and return back midday Sunday.”</p><p>He’s so gentle and earnest, Frong just wants to straddle his lap and beg to be cuddled and petted. And also to open the zipper of those loathsome plaid trousers and impale himself on the man’s monster cock. That’s not strange at all, right?</p><p>Instead he forces himself to say, “That’s impressive, P’Doctor. Er, P’Thara.”</p><p>Thara smiles but casts his eyes down modestly with a self-effacing shake of his head. “I’m just a student still. And you? Are you at the university also?”</p><p>Oh, that’s right, he hasn’t shared much about himself yet, and he’s not wearing his uniform. He’d stopped at home to change into dark-wash jeans and a royal blue button-up, in the mistaken belief that he’d soon be seeing those clothes strewn on Lizard Dad’s floor.  </p><p>“I am, yes. I’m a second-year student in the faculty of Business Management.”</p><p>“Very commendable. No wonder you have a head for details,” he adds, nodding toward the printed Gecko Care Sheet on the table between them, which Frong has dutifully marked up with margin notes. Because yes, apparently he’s a lizard-sitter now. </p><p><em> Fuck my life, </em>thinks Frong, letting his gaze slide surreptitiously to Thara’s thighs again. It’s grossly unfair that they aren’t wrapped around his ears right now. </p><p>“So how much would you charge?” </p><p>It’s a testament to Frong’s level of distraction that for an instant he genuinely believes Thara is asking his rate for the sexual favors he’s currently imagining. So he blushes and stammers when he realizes that no, they’re still talking about him taking care of the fucking gecko.</p><p>“Nothing,” he says, waving off Thara’s attempt to insist. “Being able to stay here for a few days is payment enough—my roommates are obnoxiously loud and I’ve got a big exam next week. The peace and quiet here will be a godsend. Maybe we can have dinner when you get back,” he adds, trying to salvage some semblance of his game from the wreckage of this maddeningly platonic evening. </p><p>Thara reaches out and squeezes his wrist. “I’d love that,” he says with bright-eyed sincerity. “It’s a date.”</p><p><em> I’m going to hold you to that, </em>thinks Frong.</p><p>With Cupcake perched on his shoulder, Thara then gives him a quick tour—pointing out not just the lizard-care essentials but human amenities that Frong might’ve otherwise overlooked, like a sound system controlled by a wall-mounted tablet and the espresso-machine instructions taped inside a cupboard door. The bedroom is their last stop, and it turns out that’s also where Frong’s last forlorn hope of a good fuck goes to die.</p><p>The lizard house is in the bedroom. Because of course it is. </p><p>It’s a dry 20-gallon aquarium built into a low teakwood cabinet at the foot of the bed, clearly custom-made to match the other furniture. Compared to the basic setup Frong recalls from visiting his gecko-owning cousin as a kid, this one is a lizard dream house with frondy green plants, branches, a faux hollow log, a fleecy bed, and a spa area with damp peat moss tucked into an open-sided ceramic house. Thara briefly explains the environmental controls (there’s an instruction sheet for that too) and then places Cupcake inside, showing Frong how to secure the wire mesh top.</p><p>“There’s just the one bedroom,” Thara says, “but I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed before I leave and clean towels in the en suite bathroom over there. Help yourself to whatever you need when you’re here—toiletries, snacks, anything. I want you to feel at home.”</p><p>Their eyes lock then, and heat pools low in Frong’s belly when Thara reaches out to palm the back of his neck. <em> Here we go, </em>he thinks, his breath catching in anticipation. But Thara just uses the warm grip to turn him toward the wall-mounted mirror opposite the bed. </p><p>“One more thing,” he says, “over here. The lizard cam.”</p><p>Thara has a smart mirror complete with a web-enabled camera so he can look in on his beloved lizard when he’s working a late shift at the hospital. Because of course he does. But it can also display weather, traffic updates, news headlines, and a bluetooth-enabled music playlist, which Thara shows Frong how to operate from a remote on the bedside table. Thara clearly enjoys his gadgets.</p><p>“The camera…” Thara hesitates, giving Frong a shy sidelong glance. “You can turn it off with this button here, for privacy. I can text you if I’m missing Cupcake and want to take a peek. Or you can text me if Cupcake seems out of sorts. You have my Line ID now.” </p><p>Frong doesn’t know how you tell if a lizard is out of sorts, but he’s damn sure of the signs in himself: blue balls and an unresolved itch to lay his hands on Dr. Thara.</p><p>~</p><p>Thara really doesn’t intend to spy on Frong. </p><p>He definitely doesn’t intend to spy on him doing <em> that. </em></p><p>He just...forgets, that’s all, and out of habit he clicks the lizard icon on his laptop to check on how his baby Cupcake is doing in his absence.</p><p>Cupcake is nowhere in evidence, probably hiding inside the hollow log. But very much in evidence is Frong, stretched out on Thara’s bed in nothing but a pair of loose boxer shorts.</p><p>Oh fuck. Oh fuck he forgot about Frong. Oh fuck oh shit oh god, he’s…he’s...</p><p>Touching himself. The beautiful young man in Thara’s bed has a hand down his boxers and he’s unmistakably stroking himself.</p><p><em> Turn it off! </em> Thara’s better nature screams at him even as his cock stirs in his pajama shorts, which he’s just donned for sleep in his Chiang Mai hotel room. <em> This is wrong, this is not consensual, this is— </em></p><p>Wait. Wait just a fucking minute. </p><p>He <em> told </em>Frong about the camera. </p><p>Not only did he tell him, he showed Frong how to <em> switch it off </em>with the push of a button. </p><p>So if Frong is lying there on his bed in full view, his half-lidded, lust-filled eyes looking directly at the mirror, that means…</p><p>“Oh, you beautiful thirsty boy,” Thara breathes. “Are you putting on a show for me?”</p><p>He’s still not convinced he should watch—can he really be certain Frong is doing it deliberately?—but just then Frong yanks the boxer shorts down and off, throws his head back on Thara’s pillow, and starts jerking himself in earnest. </p><p>Thara can’t look away. He’s transfixed. Because Frong is <em> stunning. </em> Everything about him makes Thara’s mouth water, from the decadent sprawl of his lean-muscled body to the balls hanging heavy between his bare thighs to the stout cock playing an unintentional game of peek-a-boo with Thara through Frong’s busy fist. </p><p>And his mouth. By all that’s holy and unholy, Frong’s <em> mouth </em> . Those perfect lips are parted on a moan, loud and wanton, and as Thara watches he sees them <em> shape his name. </em> </p><p>“Frong,” Thara whispers in answer, knowing he won’t be heard.</p><p>Watching still feels dirty. Transgressive. But that’s half the appeal, isn’t it? And oh god it’s been so long since anyone turned him on this fiercely. Or at all. So long since he looked at anyone with desire. With a half-groan Thara accepts that he’s destined for hell and works his rapidly expanding cock out of his shorts, which have grown tight in record time. Then he adjusts the controls on the webcam window, zooming in on the delectable view on his bed back home.</p><p><em> I wish I was there with you, </em>he thinks.</p><p>He’s not as oblivious as he let Frong believe, of course. He’d invited the younger man over with every intention of hooking up. God, who wouldn’t? Frong is handsome enough to model, with a beautiful smile and legs that go on for miles, and a hint of neediness in his eyes that Thara would very much like to explore and serve. He couldn’t believe his luck when Frong reached out to him through the app. But Thara’s got reason to mistrust his own taste in men, and after what happened with his ex Ice he’s doubly hesitant. He hasn’t got a great track record with just allowing himself physical pleasure without losing his heart in the process. So when it came right down to it, he’d chickened out. <em> If it seems too good to be true, it probably is, </em> he’d told himself, and engaged a petsitter instead of bedding a gorgeous willing boy.</p><p>There’d been a moment in the kitchen when Frong had looked at him with all that heat in his eyes, though, letting his gaze drop to Thara’s body—to the prominent bulge in Thara’s trousers. God. In that instant he’d wanted to yank Frong onto his lap and unbutton his shirt with his <em> teeth. </em> </p><p>But then, over Frong’s shoulder, he’d glimpsed a photograph in a magnetic frame on the refrigerator door, one he’d somehow missed in his purge of things that remind him of Ice: the two of them groomsmen in a mutual friend’s wedding, arms around one another’s waists, grinning. And he went cold remembering the sneer in Ice’s voice when they’d argued later that night. </p><p>“Do you have to show that picture of your fucking lizard everywhere we go? God, it’s embarrassing.” </p><p>“You mean I’m embarrassing,” Thara had replied, his voice tight and pinched with hurt.</p><p>“Yes! Yes, you are! You’re going to be a doctor, Thara. A professional. It’s time you stopped babbling on about lizards and riding that ridiculous old-lady bicycle and handing out posies to your patients like a little flower girl. And you wonder why I haven’t introduced you to my family?”</p><p>Even that might not have been the end to them; he knew Ice was drunk, and Thara’s capacity for forgiveness has always run deep. But then Ice said the unforgivable.</p><p>“And another thing? When we get home, we’re throwing out those hideous old clothes. Period. Handle your depression with medication like everybody else, instead of cosplaying your father.”</p><p>Blinded by unshed tears, Thara had stumbled away to find his cousin Duen among the other wedding guests, seized him by the arm and begged “Please get me out of here!” before giving way to his emotions. And Duen, bless him—who seemed like a delicate flower most of the time but had a spine of steel when it mattered—had simply gathered him up and taken charge, getting him home, calling a locksmith, and later helping him collect Ice’s belongings and gifts to be delivered back to his ex’s doorstep.</p><p>He’d been alone since then, and he’d been OK. Fine, really. He hadn’t changed himself or pleaded with Ice to come back. But he’d silently sworn that the next time he let somebody into his heart, he’d make damn sure that somebody could accept him exactly as he was—eccentricities and all. His lizard, his fussy ways, his persistent urge to nurture anyone with a sad face and a sob story, everything.</p><p><em> Could you? </em> he silently asks the young hedonist on his laptop screen, shamelessly pumping his cock for the camera. <em> Would you? </em></p><p>Thara doesn’t know the answer to that. But he does know that he’s going to blow a gasket if he doesn’t get some relief, and with a little groan of pleasure he takes himself firmly in hand.</p><p>Frong has shifted position, stacking pillows behind his back so he can sit up against the carved teak headboard and glare in Thara’s direction. His knees are bent and spread wide, and as Thara watches he pauses to spit on his palm with more emphasis than seems strictly necessary.</p><p>“You’re angry, aren’t you?” Thara murmurs, using both hands on his own cock in deference to its size, one cupping his balls and periodically squeezing the base, the other concentrating on the upper half and head. “Why are you so angry, pretty boy? Because I didn’t fuck you? God, I wish I had. You look like you want to slap me right now.”</p><p>Frong’s glare narrows even further, almost as though he could hear Thara, and for a moment he deliberately looks away, his lower lip jutting out in a petty, pretty pout that Thara longs to capture between his teeth. When he looks back at the camera again Frong is <em> seething, </em> gesturing down the length of his perfect golden body with his free hand as if to say, “You could’ve had all this, you idiot.” </p><p>“Did I hurt your feelings, beautiful?” Thara croons, stepping up the tempo of his own strokes to match Frong’s. “God, you’re glorious. You’re right, I am a complete idiot for refusing a gift like you. Please forgive me.”</p><p>With another meaningful stare at the camera, the younger man first sucks on the fingers of his free hand and then trails them down his body, his intent clear even before his fingertips reach their destination and begin to circle it. Thara draws in a harsh breath as Frong begins to work two fingers into himself at once, wincing a little at the lack of proper lubrication.</p><p>“Baby, don’t hurt yourself,” Thara protests, wondering if he dares text Frong that there’s lube in the drawer of the bedside table. No. No, he won’t interrupt the moment, because despite the rough way he’s handling himself it’s clearly working for Frong, who’s now writhing on his own fingers and breathing in shuddering gasps, hips thrusting as he fucks into his fist and glares at Thara for leaving him wanting. </p><p>“Next time,” Thara promises. “Next time I see you I’ll worship you exactly as you deserve, with my fingers and my mouth and—oh fuck, yes. <em> Yes. </em>That’s it, beautiful boy, that’s it, come for me—” </p><p>Frong’s whole body shudders with the strength of his release, strings of white pulsing out to coat his hand and soil his belly. His head falls back against the headboard, eyes closed and lips parted as he cries out in ecstasy, and Thara would gladly give everything he owns except Cupcake to hear that sound. </p><p>For nearly a minute Frong is absolutely still except for the ragged rhythm of his breathing, chest visibly heaving, wrecked and filthy. Then with visible effort he raises his head, staring directly at Thara again. </p><p>It’s a challenge, that stare, and Frong holds it unwavering while he does two things.</p><p>He brings his cum-covered hand to his mouth and licks it clean.</p><p>And then he turns off the camera.</p><p>~</p><p>Frong has no idea if Thara watched. But god, he hopes so. That was the best orgasm he’s had in months, and he likes to think he had it with Thara. </p><p>No, who is he kidding? He likes to think he had it <em> at </em>Thara. Out of sheer spite and prejudice. Because the more he thought about it after Thara left, the more furious he became. </p><p>Nobody is that naive. Thara knew perfectly well that Frong had come over with the expectation of a hookup, yet he hadn’t uttered so much as a “Sorry but no, thank you.”</p><p>So why hadn’t he followed through? Is Frong just not his cup of tea? Did he get turned off by Frong’s needy bottom vibes? No. No way in hell. Not with all that too-casual laying on of hands, not with that naked desire in his eyes when he caught Frong checking him out. Thara had wanted him. </p><p><em> Maybe he’s shy, </em>Frong thinks. It’s possible. Just because the guy has a monster dick doesn’t mean he’s necessarily brazen about whipping it out for a stranger. Maybe what Thara needed was a little seducing, and instead Frong had stood there stupidly letting him prattle on about the lizard, wasting the opportunity because he always expected to be the one coaxed and petted.</p><p>Thara was really damn cute prattling, though. His face lit up talking about his pet, a sweet uncomplicated joy animating his features that stirred an unaccustomed tenderness in Frong. Thara was a weirdo, but an endearing one.</p><p>“Lizard Dad adores you,” Frong informs Cupcake as he doles out the creature’s morning mealworms. “But you know that, don’t you? You must be the most pampered lizard in Bangkok. Eat up, buddy, we gotta keep you healthy so Daddy doesn’t worry.”</p><p>On impulse he snaps a funny photo of the gecko with its tongue sticking out, thinking that he’ll send it to Thara. But when he opens the messaging app he sees a text already waiting for him, and reading it banishes every other thought from his mind.</p><p><b>Lizard Dad</b><br/>
You’re gorgeous when you cum.</p><p><em> Game on, </em> Frong thinks jubilantly. <em> Game. On. </em></p><p><b>Yim Yaw</b><br/>
Call me tonight 8pm.</p><p> </p><p>He’s certain to his bones that Thara will take him up on it. But there’s a whole day to fill till then, and around lunchtime when he needs a break from studying Frong decides to use part of it pursuing that time-honored house- and pet-sitter hobby: snooping.</p><p>He doesn’t waste time feeling guilty about it. If Thara tuned in on a fucking<em> lizard cam </em> to watch him jerk off, he can deal with Frong peeking into his underwear drawer. Which contains no exotic surprises—Thara’s obviously not a thong or novelty-undies man—but does confirm that Thara’s trouser snake is more of an anaconda. Frong’s thoroughly average dick would get lost in the capacious fly pouch of Thara’s briefs. The med student seems to favor generously pouched briefs, stretchy seamless boxers, and compression shorts. Frong gets distracted by fantasy for a moment as he wonders which style Thara will be wearing when he finally gets to undress him, because make no mistake, that’s going to happen. If Thara is very lucky, Frong might let him set his suitcase down first.</p><p>Atop the chest of drawers is a collection of framed family photographs, “family” in this case extending to Cupcake, who’s posed on a tiny red-velvet chaise lounge. But there’s also a photo of Thara in a high school graduation gown, arms flung over the shoulders of his parents. His mother is tiny, the top of her head barely reaching her son’s shoulder, resplendent in a pink flowered dress; Thara has her smile. His father is tall but gaunt, suit hanging loose on his body in a way that suggests he once carried more weight on his frame. He has smile lines deeply creased around his eyes but no smile on his lips. He’s gazing at his son with obvious pride, though, and Frong can see the affection between them. Another photo features the whole family, including a teenage girl and a young woman who are probably Thara’s sisters; the two of them have him pinned between them, each poking one of his cheeks with a forefinger as he poses holding a birthday cake.</p><p>The final photo, set a little apart from the rest, is different. It’s a formal portrait of Thara’s father alone, clearly from some years ago because there’s not nearly as much grey in his hair as the graduation picture. The frame is black, and at its base Thara has placed a single silk flower and a small brass incense burner. Not just a photograph but an altar. A remembrance.</p><p>Frong winces, reminded all too painfully of his own father. This isn’t the kind of snooping he meant to do. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says softly, making a respectful wai to the photograph. “You raised a good man, Khun Por. You would be very proud.” </p><p>Unsettled and restless, he wanders next into Thara’s walk-in closet, which is as meticulous and orderly as the rest of the condo. Suits are zipped into garment bags, shirts are organized by type and color, trousers perfectly pressed and draped on the rungs of a laddered rack, jeans and tees neatly folded in stacks tidy enough for an upscale department store. Shoes, belts, and ties each have their own racks. Thara clearly has a place for everything, and everything in its place. Very orderly, very controlled. It makes Frong long to muss him up.</p><p>Only one small section of Thara’s wardrobe is different. The clothes hanging on that two-foot stretch of dowel are unorganized and old-fashioned, possibly vintage. The ugly cardigan is there, along with a threadbare paisley button-up, two golf shirts, a faded sweatshirt bearing the name and logo of Mahidol University, and a doctor’s coat embroidered above the pocket with Thara’s surname but another man’s given name. </p><p>Frong, who has a similar collection of items at the back of his own closet, has to turn away, his hand rising unbidden to grip the cross pendant around his neck. <em> That’s enough, </em> he tells himself sternly, backing out of the closet and heading straight to the kitchen for strong coffee. <em> You get weepy enough over your own dad, you don’t need to cry over Thara’s too. </em></p><p>In the kitchen he follows Thara’s carefully lettered instructions for the espresso machine, nodding his approval of the med student’s choice of high-quality beans. The kitchen is a little more casual than the rest of Thara’s condo, with a collection of novelty coffee mugs given pride of place on a shelf. One says “Will give medical advice for bacon.” Another declares “Don’t confuse your Google search with my medical degree.” Frong’s personal favorite is “I got my GALL BLADDER REMOVED and all I got was this STUPID MUG,” but he’s got a bet with himself that Thara favors the one featuring a cartoon dog in a lab coat and the caption, “Trust me, I’m a Dogtor.” Thara seems like a bad-pun kind of guy.</p><p>Frong also samples freely from Thara’s collection of depressingly healthy snacks, remembering the invitation to make himself at home. Well, he’d already ejaculated in the man’s bed; it didn’t get much homier than that, right? And Frong fully intends to do it again tonight, this time with more active assistance from his host.</p><p>God, now he’s horny again. Dammit. But he’s not going to do anything about it, not until his phone call with Thara. Instead he spends another two hours with his textbooks, goes for a run, showers, and even liberates Cupcake for some exercise time on his climbing tree in the living room while Frong browses Thara’s Netflix account. He’s midway through his third episode of <em> The Untamed </em> when he feels the unmistakable prickle of tiny clawed toes on his leg.</p><p>“Shit, that feels weird,” he mutters, reaching down to scoop the lizard up in his hands instead. He holds it up at eye level and promptly yelps when a sticky tongue darts out to taste the end of his nose. “Ew! No! Bad lizard!” But he’s laughing, and keeps his hands gentle as he gets up and walks the creature back to its bedroom enclosure. </p><p>The sun is going down, he realizes after he’s securely latched the aquarium top. It’s almost showtime. </p><p>The thought sends him into the bathroom to wash up, because no way in hell is he handling himself with lizard germs on his fingers. He scrubs his nose too, for good measure, and changes into loose sleep shorts and a tank that emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders.</p><p>He tries several different positions on the bed before settling on a diagonal sprawl on his side, angled toward the camera, propped up on one elbow. That won’t do when he needs full use of his hands, of course, but it’s attractive for starting the conversation.</p><p>His phone at the ready, he turns on the lizard cam and waits.</p><p>~</p><p>Eight o’clock comes and goes. Thara doesn’t call. </p><p>Nine o’clock. Thara doesn’t call.</p><p>Ten. Thara doesn’t call.</p><p>Thara doesn’t call, and doesn’t call, and after a while Frong feels stupid and angry and turns off the webcam, flopping back down on the bed with a frustrated thump of his fist against the mattress. </p><p>Probably he’s out drinking with influential doctors at the conference and can’t get away, Frong tries to tell himself. Probably he’s just running late. Unavoidably.</p><p>But then it’s midnight and Thara still hasn’t called. No text either. Nothing.</p><p>One a.m., and Thara hasn’t called.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p><b>Yim Yaw</b><br/>
Fuck you very much.<br/>
By which I mean <br/>
NO FUCKING FOR YOU.<br/>
<br/>
<b>Yim Yaw</b><br/>
You could’ve at least texted.<br/>
Bastard.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>~</p><p>“Frong,” says a gentle voice in the early light of dawn as the bedcovers are drawn back. “Yim. Move over, pretty boy.”</p><p>Frong makes a cranky, petulant noise and tries to curl into a ball. “Lemme ‘lone,” he mumbles. “Sleepy.”</p><p> “I know, and you’re very beautiful asleep. Just make a little room for me, OK?”</p><p>“No,” Frong pouts, pulling the pillow over his head. “Didn’t call me.”</p><p>A hand trails down his bare arm. “I couldn’t,” the voice says close to his ear. “I was catching the redeye flight back home to you instead. Let me in, Yim.” The pillow is lifted away and warm lips brush his in a barely-there kiss, soft as butterfly wings. “Let me into bed.” The lips find the pulse point of his throat and linger there, nuzzling, while a big hand slides across his hip to settle suggestively low on his belly. “Let me in.”</p><p><em> Let me in. </em> With a half-moan Frong struggles out of the haze of sleep, already pulling Thara into his arms and claiming his mouth before he truly understands that he’s awake, that this is real, that Thara is <em> here. </em></p><p>The kiss starts out sweet as a ripe plum, Thara’s lips plush and yielding against his, Thara’s tongue stealing a first fleeting taste of Frong’s. It’s so soft and tender that Frong could almost believe he’s slipped back into a dream. For several slow-drifting minutes they just kiss and caress, Frong sighing deeper with each repetition.</p><p>And then Frong remembers, and bites him. Hard.</p><p>“Oi!” Thara gasps. He recoils, or tries to, but Frong’s hands come up to clench in his hair and pull him back in for another kiss, this one fierce and tasting faintly of copper.</p><p>“Bastard,” he groans into Thara’s mouth, now fully, furiously awake. “You bastard, you bastard, I <em> waited </em>for you.”</p><p>Thara’s hands stroke his body, petting and consoling. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Their next kiss muffles Frong’s needy whimper. “I waited <em> hours.</em>”</p><p>“I know. I know.” Thara kisses his mouth, his jaw, each eyelid, his pouting mouth again. “I’m so sorry. I just—oh god, Yim, I knew your voice wouldn’t be enough. Seeing you on the screen wouldn’t be enough. I needed my hands on you. My mouth on you.” His voice drops to a ragged whisper. “My cock in you, if you’ll have me.”</p><p>Frong pulls him even closer, feeling out the edges of Thara’s clothes in the dim light, tearing at his shirt buttons. “Naked,” he orders. “Naked and touching me <em> now. </em>”</p><p>“Such a bossy boy.” Thara’s laugh ripples between them, a musical accompaniment to the soft rustle of fabric as he disentangles himself from Frong long enough to divest himself of his clothing. “Good thing I like them bossy.”</p><p>“Not <em> them,</em>” Frong grumbles. “Just <em> me. </em>”</p><p>“Just you,” Thara assures him with another kiss. “The one and only Yim.”</p><p>With an impatient groan Frong reaches for him again, yanking Thara down to hold him prisoner in the cage of his strong arms and muscular thighs. </p><p>“Make it up to me,” he demands, his hands rapidly mapping the warm planes of Thara’s back and then moving down to capture the firm curves of his buttocks and <em> squeeze. </em> He cants his hips up to Thara, moaning wantonly as he feels that big cock pressed between their bodies for the first time. He grinds up against it eagerly, then slips his hands between them to feel its heft. Holy fucking hell, how is all that going to fit inside him? Never mind. He’ll make it fit. “Give me that. Give me everything, damn you, and <em> hurry. </em>” </p><p>His voice is trembling with emotion and need, and on some rational level he recognizes that his responses are all out of proportion, off balance. But rational Frong isn’t in charge right now. Needy, greedy Frong has taken the wheel. </p><p>Thara doesn’t seem to mind. Far from it—with a pleased hum he rocks his hips into Frong, rutting hard against him, alternately kissing him deeply and crooning filthy words in his ear. </p><p>“You want everything? Be careful what you ask for, pretty boy, because I’ll give it to you. Just name it. You want my cock in you, gorgeous? Filling that perfect ass?”  </p><p>“Yes,” Frong moans, writhing under him. “Yes. Yes. <em> Right now. </em>”</p><p>“Impatient Yim.” Drawing back, ignoring Frong’s cry of protest, Thara tugs at his tank top. “Let’s get this off. I want to feel all of you.” With brisk efficiency he strips off the shirt and Frong’s shorts, too, letting his hands linger on all the places he’s just uncovered, each touch sending little jolts of pure pleasure through Frong. When Thara’s fist closes on his cock, Frong has to press his face into his own shoulder to stifle a cry.</p><p>“Mmm, what a sweet one,” Thara murmurs, squeezing just this side of too hard. “Just right—easy to swallow but nice and thick. Do you want me to suck you off first, pretty boy?”</p><p>Frong shakes his head fretfully. “No. Another time.” Arching up to Thara, he takes his mouth in another kiss, making hungry sounds all the while. “Fill me. Fuck me. Please. Please. I need it so bad. Nobody’s dicked me right in <em> so long. </em>” He hates the whine in his voice, the neediness, but Thara’s answering chuckle sounds fond, not mocking.</p><p>“I could tell,” Thara says. “You weren’t subtle about looking at mine. Let me get the lube, pretty boy, getting you ready is going to take some time. No, don’t you growl at me,” he chides when Frong makes a furiously impatient sound. “If you’re going to be a size queen, sweetheart, you don’t get to complain that it takes too long to prep.”</p><p>“<em>Fine, </em>” Frong huffs as Thara rustles around in the bedside drawer. “Bastard.”</p><p>“Brat.” But Thara’s tone is affectionate, and when he finds the lube he makes short work of slicking his fingers and pressing them between Frong’s eagerly parted thighs. “Talk to me, brat.”</p><p>Frong snorts. “About what? Lizard care?”</p><p>“Smartass.” Thara gives a playful slap to his outer thigh, more of a love tap than an actual blow. “Tell me what you like in bed, pretty Yim. We don’t know each other yet, and I seem to have promised to give you everything you want.”</p><p>“What part of ‘your dick in my ass’ was unclear, exactly?” Frong asks, his voice wavering as Thara’s fingers delve more deeply. He knows he’s being a jerk but something about Thara’s gentle voice makes Frong want to rile him as much as ride him. His composure in bed is like his closet: too tidy, too perfect. In need of mussing up.</p><p>That earns him another slap to his thigh, a little harder this time. “Yim. The sooner I know it, the sooner you get it.”</p><p>“Fii-iiiiine,” Frong pouts again, deliberately drawing it out in a peevish whine. “But talking isn’t sexy.”</p><p>This time his punishment is a sharp bite on his inner thigh, immediately soothed with a kiss. “Heresy.”</p><p>“It’s not!”</p><p>“Mm. So if I said that watching you lick your own cum off your fingers made me want to feed you mine...that wouldn’t be sexy?”</p><p>Frong sucks in his breath with a hiss. “N-no?” </p><p>“And if I said that I want to put your ankles around my neck and fuck you into the mattress until you forget your own name?”</p><p>“N-N-ohhh. Oh fuck. OK, yeah, that’s sexy as hell.” There’s no point in denying it; Frong knows his anticipatory shiver would make a liar of him, and so would the sudden twitch of his dick. And Thara has a point: they’re virtual strangers, and every new territory calls for a map. “All right,” he sighs, giving in to the request even as he wriggles impatiently in an attempt to jam himself more deeply onto Thara’s digits. In return he gets another playful slap, this one to his knee, and a twist of Thara’s fingers that lights up his nerve endings like the city skyline at dusk. Frong’s gasp is almost a yelp, embarrassingly loud, but Thara only smiles.</p><p><em> Tell me what you like in bed, pretty Yim. </em> Besides a newly minted kink for being called <em> pretty Yim </em> in Thara’s soft, caressing voice? Well. An expertly wielded dick in his ass, first and foremost, but Thara already knows that. The rest is harder to put into words. Or more accurately, it’s simple but it doesn’t exactly make him sound like a catch.</p><p>“Come on, Yim,” Thara prompts softly, as if reading his hesitation. “There are no wrong answers here. You want what you want.”</p><p>Thara’s got most of a hand eased into him now, the free hand coming up to cup and gently squeeze his balls while still leaving his aching cock untouched. Frong twists and writhes and throws his head back, all his body language begging for more, and finds his tongue loosening as much as his thighs. </p><p>“I want to be selfish, OK?” he blurts out. “I like it. I fucking love it.” There’s a challenge in his voice, but to his utter chagrin he can hear the vulnerability and defensiveness quavering in it too. “I like my partner to get off on pleasing me.”</p><p>“Mmm. You like being bossy, then?” Thara murmurs, pausing in his ministrations to press a pair of kisses to Frong’s inner thighs.</p><p>“Sometimes. Except when I expect you to read my mind and just give me what I want.”</p><p>Thara’s laugh is bright with delight. “I’ll have to work on my psychic powers. What else?”</p><p>“I like touching just fine but I love <em> being </em> touched. Anywhere, everywhere—ankles, elbows, toes, third rib on the right, whatever. Every-fucking-where. I’m one giant erogenous zone. And I…” His voice trails off uncertainly, but he’s gone this far, he might as well go the distance. “I like things <em> done </em>to me, all right? If you need a whole lot of quid pro quo, I’m not your boy.” </p><p>“Oh, you are <em> definitely </em>my boy,” Thara murmurs. He pats Frong’s hip meaningfully. “Now let’s roll you over, pretty Yim, because this’ll be a little easier if you’re on your belly.”</p><p>“You probably just want to slap my ass,” Frong mutters suspiciously. But when Thara withdraws his hand—which makes Frong want to howl like a dog in protest—he nonetheless obligingly flips over, pillowing his head on his arms, and when bidden to lift his hips he does that too. Thara slips a spare pillow under him, adjusting it several times before he’s satisfied. “So fussy,” Frong complains loudly.</p><p>“Particular,” Thara corrects, and bends to press a kiss to the base of Frong’s spine. “God, what a spectacular ass you have.” </p><p>Frong twists to glare over his shoulder. “And yet there’s still no dick in it.”</p><p>Thara’s sigh is ridiculously long-suffering for someone who’s only been naked with Frong for fifteen minutes. Usually it takes at least one full sexual encounter for Frong to piss somebody off that thoroughly. Especially an otherwise patient person like Thara.</p><p>“Yim,” the other man says, “do you want to be able to walk tomorrow? And perhaps avoid an excruciatingly embarrassing trip to the emergency clinic?”</p><p>“I...feel like this is a trick question? But yes?”</p><p>“Good. Then don’t ask me to dry-fuck you with a ten-inch cock.”</p><p>“But you lubed me,” Frong protests.</p><p>“Only as far as my fingers can reach. My hands,” he adds with a note of half-suppressed laughter, “are rather average.”</p><p>“I’ll take my chances.”</p><p>This time the swat is a sharper one to his left butt cheek. Still playful enough to send pleasure-ripples up Frong’s spine, but with a little more sting...which is a different brand of pleasure altogether.</p><p>“I won’t,” Thara says. “Boss me all you want in other ways, but I won’t do anything that’ll hurt you.”</p><p>Frong has to hide his face in his arms to disguise his emotions. “Fine,” he mutters, kicking the mattress in a manufactured fit of pique. “What do you suggest, then? Just gonna slip me the tip?” </p><p>“Oh, I think we can manage better than that.” For the first time he hears Thara’s voice lose its composure, going low and ragged with want. “But first, how do you feel about toys?”</p><p>~</p><p>Thara owns a lubricating dildo. Because of course he does. The man never met a gadget he didn’t like.</p><p>Thara disinfects his toys after every use and stores them in a sterile sealed container. Because of course he does.</p><p>Frong is tempted to taunt him about his anal retentiveness, but that might backfire considering that he, not Thara, is the one currently getting his ass plundered by a purple silicone dong.</p><p>“Harder,” he gasps instead. “Oh...my...fucking <em> god</em>...please, Thara, <em> please.</em>”</p><p>“So polite,” Thara murmurs. “But no.”</p><p>“But whyyyy?” Frong whines, twisting his hips and forcing himself up on his knees in a futile attempt to take what Thara’s refusing to give him. But Thara anticipates it, pressing a palm flat to his lower back and withdrawing the toy completely. </p><p>“Bastard,” Frong gasps. “Sadist. I fucking hate you.”</p><p>“No, you don’t.” The mattress dips as Thara shifts position to straddle him from behind, pressing himself against Frong’s back to nuzzle his nape. “You hate waiting. Because you’re a spoiled, greedy boy. I’ll take you hard, sweetheart, don’t you worry—but not with a piece of silicone that can’t appreciate how hot and tight and gorgeous you are.” </p><p>Frong lets out a low animal sound. “Then for the love of god, fuck me already!” he snaps. His nerves feel stretched to the breaking point, so stimulated and yet never quite <em> there</em>, never what he so desperately craves. </p><p>“Not yet.”</p><p>“Then <em> get off me!”</em> he shouts, and with a snarl of fury he pushes up from the mattress with all his strength, elbowing Thara hard in the belly as he does so, sending the other man sprawling onto his back on the mattress. Frong flips over and pounces on him, straddling his hips and capturing his wrists in an iron grip to stretch them over Thara’s head. His breath coming in great heaving gasps that sound too close to sobs for comfort, he presses his full weight down on Thara and <em> grinds, </em> desperate for friction and release. He kisses Thara so hard he tastes blood again, but he doesn’t care. He needs kissing. He needs touching. He <em> needs. </em></p><p>“Why?” he demands between kisses. “Why—won’t—you—fuck me? Why—don’t—you—<em>want </em> me? <em> Why? </em> ” With each word he lifts Thara’s trapped wrists and <em> slams </em> them back down, beating the mattress with Thara’s hands in his frustration to hit something. Not Thara, never Thara, but <em> something. </em></p><p>“I do want you. I want you <em> so much,</em>” Thara groans. His hands unavailable, he wraps his legs around Frong instead, and evades Frong’s next attempt at a furious kiss to rub his cheek gently against Frong’s instead. “Sweet Yim,” he croons. “Beautiful, beautiful, needy Yim. Just look at  you. How can you think I don’t want you?”</p><p>Frong is genuinely crying in frustration now, angry and hurt, his whole body shaking atop Thara’s. “Because you won’t give it to me,” he keens. “I need it so bad. It hurts. It <em> hurts </em> and you won’t—you <em> won’t </em>—”</p><p>He only realizes he’s released Thara’s wrists when he feels the other man’s hands tenderly cradle his face. “I will, sweetheart, I promise. I’m so sorry, Yim. I didn’t know you were so close to the breaking point. I’m still learning you, OK? I made a mistake. Forgive me and come here, baby Yim. Aw, come here.”</p><p>Frong goes limp in Thara’s arms then, not so much loose as lost, surrendering. He lets Thara cuddle him close, lets him pet and soothe him as though he’s some kind of fractious animal, lets him wipe the furious tears from his cheeks and ease his tight-fisted hands open to allow his palms to be kissed. Lets Thara massage his stress-tightened muscles and kiss every part of him that he can reach, including that third rib on the right. He even lets Thara work the sex toy back inside him again, just long enough to deliver its remaining payload of lube as deeply as it will reach.</p><p>And then at last—oh god, <em> at last</em>—he lets Thara put him on his back, place one more lingering kiss on his lips, and position his cockhead at Frong’s entrance.</p><p>“Oh my god,” he groans as Thara begins the long, slow slide into his very core. “Fuck. Oh fuck, oh god, oh god you’re <em> fucking huge </em>—<em>ah! </em> yes yes don’t stop don’t you dare stop I’ll fucking kill you if you stop—<em>ahhhh! </em>”</p><p>If he’d been asked a day ago to guess Thara’s style in bed, Frong would’ve instantly said “hearts and flowers, sweet nothings, way too polite, way too gentle, probably a big waste of a big dick.” And nothing about Thara’s sweet consideration thus far has made him suppose otherwise. So he is entirely unprepared to learn that Thara’s actual style is best described as “He’ll probably kill you but you’ll die so fucking happy.”</p><p>His only forewarning of this is when Thara, who’s only worked himself halfway into Frong’s ass at the time, gives him a crooked little grin and says in a dangerously controlled voice, “Yim? Sweetheart? Listen up. Your safeword is <em> frown.</em>”</p><p>And then he proceeds to systematically fuck Frong into a screaming, moaning, spasming, delirious collection of nerve endings incapable of human speech or coherent thought. </p><p>It’s not only that he’s so damn big, although holy fuck, Frong’s pretty sure he can feel that thing stabbing him in the heart from the inside once it’s fully seated. He’s not being penetrated, he’s being fucking <em> bisected. </em> But no, it’s not just size, it’s what Thara knows how to do with it. </p><p>Thara pounds him till he howls and then teases him mercilessly till he begs to be pounded again. </p><p>Thara bends him in directions Frong didn’t know he could bend and makes him wish he could dislocate a few joints to bend even further, because by god it’d be worth it. </p><p>Thara makes him abjectly plead to come and then, while Frong is still writhing and gasping and excruciatingly sensitive from one orgasm, immediately swallows his overstimulated cock in relentless pursuit of the next.</p><p>Thara kisses him tenderly and then twists his arms behind him and fucks him till he cries.</p><p>Thara treats him like a whore and whispers his name like a prayer. All his names.</p><p>“Greedy Nong.” </p><p>“Bossy bottom.”</p><p>“Frong. Fuckable Frong.”</p><p>“Obnoxious brat.”</p><p>“Sweetheart, sweet boy, so, <em>so</em> sweet.”</p><p>“Yim, my beautiful Yim.”</p><p>“<em>Mine. Mine. Mine.</em>”</p><p>When Frong’s rational mind returns to his used, abused, utterly spent and satiated body, Thara is tenderly cleaning an astonishing amount of cum from his skin with a washcloth printed with cartoon ducks. For some reason this strikes Frong funny and he begins to giggle helplessly, shoulders shaking.</p><p>“Oh my god,” he groans. “Just wipe it on the sheets and burn the sheets.”</p><p>Thara gives him a fond sidelong smile. “Welcome back.”</p><p>“Mm-mmm. Was I out of it for long?”</p><p>“Quite a while. You looked dazed. But happy.”</p><p>“I’m not happy, I’m dead. But I died bravely and ascended to a higher plane.” After a moment’s thought Frong adds wistfully, “I hope they have ice cream on the higher plane.”</p><p>Thara grips his chin between thumb and forefinger and tips it up for a kiss. “You’ve recovered the power of speech for ten seconds and already you’re asking me to feed you?”</p><p>“Yes?” Out of habit, Frong pushes out his lower lip. “So you won’t?”</p><p>“I didn’t say that, greedy boy. Hush now. Let me finish cleaning you up and then I’ll fetch your ice cream.”</p><p>“Good.” Placated, Frong subsides back onto the pillows and goes limp as a rag doll. “You’re a fucking beast, Dr. Thara. You might’ve warned me.”</p><p>Thara shrugs, and Frong can’t help thinking he looks a little smug. “You didn’t warn me that you bite.”</p><p>“Once. I bit you <em> once.</em>”</p><p>“Such a liar. It’s a good thing you’re pretty.” After tossing the washcloth into a hamper in the corner, Thara raises a hand to his swollen lower lip. “One,” he says, then angles his right shoulder toward Frong to show another obvious bite mark. “Two.” He turns completely around to present his shapely ass for inspection. “Three. I think that one drew blood, you little terror.”</p><p>“I was provoked, you over-endowed bully,” Frong huffs, closing his eyes. “Shut up and get my ice cream.”</p><p>“Yes, little prince. Right away, little prince.”</p><p>Frong would throw a pillow at him, but he’s comfortable and it’s far, far too much effort.</p><p>~</p><p>Spoiling Frong is nearly as much fun as fucking Frong, Thara decides. He’s just so damn cute when he’s demanding, and so decadently pleased when he gets his way. Thara ends up hand-feeding him the ice cream in a bubble bath, figuring that’ll check off two aftercare to-dos at once—recovery carbs and ass TLC. </p><p>Once the ice cream is finished and he’s certain Frong isn’t going to doze off and drown in the tub, though, Thara tops off the hot water and leaves the younger man to soak while he changes the sheets and checks on Cupcake. The lizard is in fine fettle, he’s happy to see, bright-eyed and active. </p><p>“Did you miss me?” Thara coos, lifting the little creature up to face level to make kissy noises at it. Cupcake’s tongue promptly flicks out to taste the tip of his nose.</p><p>“I got nose-licked too,” says Frong from the bathroom doorway. </p><p>Thara glances his way, then does a double take because Frong hasn’t bothered to don a robe. Or anything else. And the view is outstanding. </p><p>“Geckos are curious,” he says, “and licking is a big part of exploring the world for them and identifying what’s food too. They have a Jacobson's gland for olfaction, and—” He pauses, shaking his head. “Sorry, this isn’t interesting to anyone but me.” He lowers Cupcake back into the aquarium, suddenly self-conscious.</p><p>Frong pauses in the act of towel-drying his hair, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Who says? It’s more interesting than business management theory, I’ll tell you that much. God, I have so much studying to finish. My roommates had better keep their fucking music turned down tonight or I’m going to snap.”</p><p>“You can study here.” The words escape Thara before he can stop them, and he immediately backpedals. “If you want to, I mean. It’s quiet at least.”</p><p>Frong says nothing at first, just lowers the towel to knot it around his waist. Then he crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed, near but not touching Thara, who’s still crouched down by the lizard enclosure.</p><p>“Not the usual hookup etiquette,” he observes, his voice neutral.</p><p>“This hasn’t been the usual hookup.”</p><p>“No.” This time there’s amusement in Frong’s words. “Lizard sitting and becoming a cam boy? Definitely not par for the course.” A pause. “I liked it, though.” Another pause. “And I liked what happened this morning more.”</p><p>“Me too.” Thara edges closer, puts his hands on Frong’s bare knees to spread them wide enough to kneel between. Frong’s hands close on his shoulders and squeeze. “I like you, Yim. And I’d like to see you again.”</p><p>“To fuck me.”</p><p>“To see you,” Thara repeats, holding his gaze. He reaches out to trace Frong’s lips with a forefinger, lingering at the corners where his mouth has that tantalizing little upturn, a permanent hint of a smile even when he’s serious. “Don’t get me wrong, I also want to fuck you. But hookups aren’t really my style.”</p><p>“They’re mine. Usually.” Frong bites his lower lip and casts his eyes upward—making a show of considering, Thara thinks. “But I could use a quiet place to study. And maybe you’ll need more lizard sitting. Or something.”</p><p>“Or something,” Thara agrees.</p><p>“So we could try that, I guess. If you want.” Frong lowers his head for a swift but emphatic kiss. “But no other lizard sitters for you, OK? Just me. I don’t share.”</p><p>Thara feels his smile grow, sees it answered with Frong’s own. “Of course you don’t, greedy Yim.” He slides his hands up Frong’s thighs to his waist, squeezing there as he leans up for another kiss, this one light and lingering. “It’s a deal.”</p><p>“And you don’t get access to my ass again for at least a week, because your cock is a goddamn monster and I’m sore as hell.”</p><p>“That’s fine.”</p><p>“And you’re cooking me breakfast.”</p><p>Thara rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, dropping a kiss on the top of Frong’s head. </p><p>“Yes, little prince. Of course I am.” But under his breath as he heads to the kitchen he adds, “Brat.”</p><p>“I heard that!” shouts Frong. “Now it’s <em> two </em> weeks.”</p><p>~</p><p>Frong only manages to hold out for five days. He really is a very greedy boy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The members of my cracktastically creative My Engineer group chat on Twitter are entirely to blame for this one, and I love them for it. Our collaborative headcanons are the best headcanons. THARA HAS A HUGE DICK, OK? We said so and now it's true. Fight us.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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